King & Lionheart
by J. Flowers
Summary: "—s him, Karasuno High's famous #10. The one they call the Little Giant!" Lucas isn't entirely sure what is it that's so mesmerizing about the small figure on the screen, arms outstretched behind him like unfurled wings, until the Little Giant leaps into the air and flies. Lucas blinks, finding his reflection in the glass, and thinks that he'd like to fly too. Pre-slash.


Firstly, I'd really like to thank my friend 122940756 (whom I'm gifting this fanfic to) for inspiring me to write this, even though it took me _so long_ to finally complete it. Still, I had a lot of fun plotting this out and I'm very happy with the finished product! So, yeah. Thank you for all your encouragement & patience 3

Secondly, in regards to the fanfic: this is basically a series of snippets that closely follow the main premise of Haikyuu!, but everyone's thoughts and actions aren't necessarily restricted to those of the characters they were based on. Lucas (among other protagonists) has no real canon personality so this doesn't really include him, but I _did_ try to stick to Barry's character as best as I could without straying too much from the plot. I also kept the original team names because I felt kinda silly using Pokemon towns in their stead, so.

I honestly don't think there are many people out there who'd be super pumped for a Pokemon/Haikyuu! crossover (though there is one other fanfic in the tag as of publishing this), but to those who would... Well, wait no more, because this is your lucky day!

And last but not least - enjoy! 

* * *

_Before my eyes, a tall, tall wall looms above me…_

 _What sort of scene is on the other side? What will I be able to see there?_

 _The view from the top is a scenery that I will never be able to see on my own._

 _But, If I'm not alone..._

 _I might just be able to see it._

* * *

Gravel crunches under the tires of Lucas' bicycle as his frigid fingers gingerly squeeze the brakes, slowing its pace before bringing it to a halt with a decisive screech. One foot carefully slips out of its pedal and steps onto the slippery ground beneath to keep himself from toppling over.

Before him is a rather run-down electronics store he passes by every day on his way to school. Nothing in particular stands out; such has been the case as far as he can recall, which, admittedly, isn't much at his age. But for the very first time, he stops to look past the flickering neon sign and peeling, worn-down posters when he spies a sudden movement from out of the corner of his eye.

His gaze ultimately lands upon a boxy old thing displaying what appears to be a volleyball game. The sound is muffled by the glass acting as a barrier between him and the television, and its small screen isn't helping much in terms of visibility, but the words he does manage to make out are, _" —s him, Karasuno High's famous #10. The one they call the Little Giant!"_

Lucas holds his breath.

He isn't entirely sure what is it that's so mesmerizing about the small, dark-haired figure on the screen, crouched down with his arms outstretched behind him like unfurled wings as he prepares to leap into the air. It's just volleyball, after all. Lucas has never felt an overwhelming need to start practicing sports, always thinking himself too easily worn-out, too mild-mannered to step out and push his mind and body to the limit for the sake of a game. So what exactly makes this instance any different?

Lucas dwells on it briefly, but then the Little Giant takes off the ground and _flies.  
_

A gust of wind sends Lucas' hat flying, tousling his soft black curls and nipping at reddened cheeks, though he doesn't think the cold is responsible for the thrill that runs down his spine, chilling him to the bone and making his hair stand on end. _  
_

Lucas knows now. He knows how it is to wonder what the view is like from the top, once you take to the skies and look down on the dumbfounded faces of the opponents that once blocked the way.

He blinks, finding his reflection in the glass, and thinks that he'd like to fly too. 

* * *

"Hey, where's this 'Yukigaoka Junior High'? I've never heard of it before."

"Beats me... don't they have like six people on their team? And they couldn't even find a libero."

"Half of them are fresh out of elementary school, too! Can you believe that?"

"Eh?! Three first years? You're kidding!"

"Kinda makes you wonder how they plan on competing against us."

 _"D-don't..."_

The three turn at the sound of a fourth voice, their gazes falling upon a pale-faced boy with sleepy eyes, hunched over and clutching his protesting stomach.

"Huh?"

 _"Don't underestimate us,"_ he grumbles. In his current state, he might not come off as the paragon of confidence, but the graveness in his tone can only mean business. "In the match, we'll show— _urgh!_ W-we'll teach you a thing or two, alright..."

"...Pfft!"

"O-oh yeah, we'll be looking forward that!"

"See what I mean? Elementary schoolers!"

"He's... he's even wearing the captain's mark, isn't he? Can you believe that? This is priceless—"

 _"Oi, second years!"_

It's almost as if a switch had been flipped. All too soon, the hall is blanketed with a nigh-palpable tension that wipes the smiles clean off the boys' faces, laughter dying down until only the sound of running water breaks the deafening silence. Their expressions say it all: this no time to be joking around.

"B-Barry!"

"Crap, he's pissed...!"

Lucas carefully assesses the tall boy standing before them, peering up at the new presence through his fringe.

This boy is all angles. His tall nose, high cheekbones, and sharp jawline all make him look somewhat older than he probably is, but the gangliness and too-long arms tell a different story; one could tell at first glance that he isn't quite done growing yet. What really makes him stop to look, however, is the stark contrast that Barry's platinum blond curls make against the accompanying pair of glaring auburn eyes.

 _Such a flashy combination._

Barry huffs, folding his arms over his chest. "Warm-up's about to start, what're you still doing here? Hurry up or you'll be left behind!"

"Right, sorry..."

"We'll be there in a minute!"

As the underclassmen scramble to finish filling up the drinks, Lucas is surprised to see Kitagawa Daiichi's #2 briefly looking over at him to offer an apologetic smile. Lucas can't find it in him to respond in kind, though he doubts Barry takes notice of this, because the exchange is over almost as soon as it had started.

"Eh, you lot," he says, "you don't get to talk like that 'till you're off the bench. Don't go riding on the school's coattails if you're gonna look down on people!"

They apologize, and that's that.

Lucas is now alone with Barry, who snorts, heading in his direction before Lucas has the opportunity to retreat along with the problematic second years. Fantastic. He really doesn't want to talk to this guy. Lucas would much rather save his energy for the game (something actually worth spending his energy on), but the #2 doesn't look like the type to back down easily.

"What're you doing here?"

Yep. He's going to have to deal with this, after all. Stomach no longer hurting, Lucas lets his arms fall limp at his sides, straightening his back and squaring his shoulders to meet other boy's gaze head-on.

Let it not be said that Lucas can't look at his enemy in the eye.

"In front of the bathrooms?" Lucas deadpans. "What do you think?"

"I mean," Barry laughs, waving his hand about as he tries to find the right words, "what brings you here?"

"I'm... I don't know what you're trying to ask."

"It's just. You seem pretty unsure, is all. Is this your first tournament? I wouldn't worry too much about it, you'll see that a fair amount of people don't start playing 'till junior-high. If you keep practicing—"

" _—unsure?_ " Lucas doesn't bother answering the question. He knows damn well enough when he is being patronized, whether the other means it or not, and he's not about to let it slide. "I wouldn't be standing here if I was _unsure._ "

"Well..."

"I came here to win, obviously. That's what brings me here."

Upon his proclamation, Lucas can almost feel the air around the #2 changing. The corners of Barry's lips remain curled into a small smile, but Lucas notices he's acquired a more serious disposition, as if he were contemplating him for the first time.

Following a long silence, he speaks again.

"...It makes me curious how you're saying that so easily, despite knowing that height is something so crucial to volleyball. How come?"

It's just an observation, really. Lucas isn't thick-headed enough to believe Barry is trying to pick a fight with him by saying such things. Besides, it's not like he could deny it.

"It's true I'm not very tall. Unless I hit a growth spurt by some miracle, I'm gonna have to live with that. But..."

Lucas swallows a lump in his throat. " _I can jump._ We'll know who wins only when the match is over, right? I'm not giving up just yet."

Barry chuckles good-naturedly, slapping his back like he's his best friend. Lucas huffs, shrugging his hand off, and the blond's smile broadens. "Eh, that's easier said than done! And even if you can compensate for height, you gotta remember it's not all about individual skills — you'll know what I mean when you're on the court. Well, see ya later!"

Just like that, reality crashes over him like a tidal wave.

 _That's right,_ Lucas thinks, feeling breathless as he watches Barry's receding back, in just a few minutes, I'll be playing volleyball on a proper court, with a proper team...

"The first match," he starts, and Barry doesn't stop, but Lucas knows he is listening. "The second match, and the one after that... we'll win. We'll win them all!"

Barry glances back towards him, his face beaming. "Nope! In the first match, the second, and even the one after that, the one standing on the winning side of the court will be me!" 

* * *

_I know now...  
_

Lucas thinks the ball might have been launched out of a cannon, with the way it speeds past his measly block and ricochets off the other side of the court with an ear-splitting bang before they've even landed on their feet.

 _TWEET!_

"We're on the 20's now! Hell yeah!"

"Nice kill!"

 _I know now why he was so confident. 'King of the Court', is what they called him..._

 _"—iichi! Kitagawa Daiichi! Kitagawa Daiichi!"_

Early on in the game, everyone bore witness to Lucas' true power the moment he shot past a trio of gaping blockers and leapt into the air —more than a few would swear he'd sprouted wings, then learned to fly in the span of a millisecond— and slammed the ball onto the hardwood floor. They'd scored the first point and it felt like the whole world had stopped. But now, it was harder to keep up. Kitagawa Daiichi was ultimately more experienced in every aspect, and Barry's last words to him rang true now that Lucas found himself faced against a well-coordinated team.

He can feel his teammate's terrified eyes on him as they look to their captain for support. Lucas can hardly muster the right words to shout over the stand's booming chant; he fears his voice might go hoarse from all the attempts, if it hadn't already. Exhaustion has begun rearing its ugly head by now. No amount of training could have prepared him enough to endure having his limbs turned to lead in the struggle to keep his body in constant motion and his mind alert for even the smallest of movements.

"Don't worry!" He croaks. Not used to the strain, pain flares up in Lucas' parched throat. "Let's get back the first set, point by point! _This isn't over yet!"_

"A-alright!"

Barry prepares to serve, and suddenly he becomes the sole focus of everyone in the room.

He must know it's only natural that he'd attract people's attention like moths to a flame. Throughout the duration of the match, Lucas had seen how he unashamedly barked orders at his teammates almost as fast as he could toss the ball (which was extraordinary by itself), and they could do little but swallow their protests while they strained every muscle to move faster, to jump higher. Lucas thought it fitting that, as the King, he'd rule the court accordingly with a sole goal in mind: victory.

A brilliant player like that would would turn heads anywhere. Lucas knows that. Barry most likely knows it better than his own name. His team seems to acknowledge it too, albeit reluctantly.

And yet...

It's _him_ Barry seeks out in that fraction of a second before the whistle is blown. Lucas doesn't care enough to replace the desperate look on his face with something more dignified - it would be inadequate, he thinks, because during those precious few moments before the eight seconds designated for serving, it's as if though they are baring their souls to each other, every raw emotion and the sheer willpower to _win_ pouring out of them in waves.

He looks... different. Barry, the animated, loud-spoken boy who chased away bullies and exchanged banter with him is locked away while the stoic but intense King comes out to play. He doesn't pause to smile or cheer a single time, and while everyone else is occupied celebrating a point or lamenting a botched receive, Barry would go back into position and wait for their next move, always poised to attack. This Barry gave him an ominous feeling, like rumbling thunderclouds looming over the horizon. The calm before the storm.

He realizes then, that he is the only person in Kitagawa Daiichi who seems to be taking them seriously. Not to say that the rest of the team is doing anything halfheartedly, of course, presuming that such thing would never happen under Barry's scrutiny, but the general consensus is that Yukigaoka is something to swat out of the way before the real competition begins. A mere warm-up to show their 'real' opponents exactly what they're made of.

It fills Lucas with outrage and he knows now that he is not the only one. He channels all of his ire and determination in his spikes, each miss only motivating him to get up and try harder, to prove them all wrong.

 _'Prove them wrong, I dare you!'_ is what Barry's look tells him before he steps forward, his eyes following the ball as he tosses it high in the air and races after it. 

* * *

"What's the schedule tomorrow?"

"It's—"

Later that afternoon, Barry is in the midst of leaving with his teammates when sees him again. That soft, yet unmistakable voice calling out his name from the top of the stairs makes Barry stop in his tracks, his body turning to face none other than Yukigaoka's small captain.

Lucas is panting, his freckled cheeks tinted red with the exertion from having run all the way to catch up with the genius setter. Barry's eyebrows draw themselves into a confused frown as the other's fierce gaze locks onto his own. Even after his patchwork team's crushing defeat, it looks like the green-clad middle blocker still has plenty of fight in him, and it doesn't surprise Barry one bit.

"...O-one day," Lucas makes a pause, and he can't help noticing the obvious tremble in his voice, "one day, I will defeat you. If you're the King—" Barry bites the inside of his cheek at this because Lucas _doesn't quite get it,_ "—then I'll be the one to knock you off your throne. Don't forget that."

Barry blinks, his brows now arching skywards. Out of the corner of his eye he can see the rest of his team watching their clash with barely concealed curiosity. _Curse them,_ he thinks, _they're probably waiting for me to tell him off._

So he doesn't. Instead, Barry observes.

There's nothing intimidating about the boy, that is for certain. The way his dark blue eyes glitter with unshed tears in the warm afternoon sunlight somewhat ruin the tough, determined front he's trying to put on. Barry doesn't doubt for a second that such direct confrontations are completely beyond Lucas' comfort zone. Barry decides his drive is rather admirable.

He remembers vividly how everyone else at the game towered over the middle-blocker. Even if, given enough practice, his sheer amount of natural talent could make up for it twice over, and his rough edges and shaky foundation could be reshaped into something unparalleled, he is absolutely positive that Lucas would never be the type to make his opponents cower in fear through appearance alone. However... Barry can tell their match had revived his resolve to search for the means to shine with his own unique light.

 _A small giant indeed._

Barry grins. "Man, you sure talk big for such a little guy! You're ten billion years too early to be saying stuff like that, y'know?"

Lucas opens his mouth to retaliate, clearly affronted, but Barry continues before he can get the words out.

" _But!_ I accept your challenge. Improve your skills first, and if you manage to catch up, then we'll be seeing each other on the court once again. Hopefully you'll be on a team that's actually good by the time that happens."

Smile still in place, Barry tilts his head forwards, expression darkening with the shadow that his hair casts over his face.

"I won't lose to you, though."

Something about Lucas tells him that he believes Barry's every word. And that's more than good enough for him.

If anything...

"I'll catch up to you before you know it," the other decides, his hands curled into fists at his sides, "then... I will surpass you. Don't get too cocky, now."

...the blond's bold declaration only seems to feed the fire further.

He's a first year in junior-high, then. 

* * *

_"Why, you...!"_

The taller boy's blunt nails scrape against his skin through the fabric of his shirt as he clenches it into his fists, bringing a startled Barry to eye-level with a fierce pull that knocks the air out of his lungs. Barry's fingers are clawing at the sandy-haired captain's wrists, and his feet, kicking about as he struggles to regain his footing, barely hover a few inches off the court. He is vaguely aware of a far-away voice pleading them to cut it out, but his wide eyes remain glued to his fellow setter, the upperclassman's typically handsome face flushed red and contorted in rage. His glaring honey-brown eyes are narrowed into slits.

"I-I... I don't— " Barry's voice cracks mid-sentence and the words die in his throat.

Everything happens too fast for him to fully process. To this day he faintly recalls a harsh (albeit rather one-sided) exchange of words — _"don't come near me" "who do you think you are?" "you're just a snotty little first year who thinks he can just-"_ — and the the sound of his own hitched, shivering breaths.

Barry barely has the time to react before the other's hand is drawn back and poised to strike.

 _SMACK!_

 _"...Stop that."_

The vice-captain isn't as keen on backhanding the underclassmen, as it turns out. Barry is only lucky enough that their new companion had caught his wrist in time, twisting his arm away from the younger one's face. Caught off guard, both teens turn to look at the dark-haired wing-spiker, who only offers an impassive stare in return for their shocked (and in the captain's case, slightly ashamed) looks. He seems to have found what he was looking for when his steely red gaze softens into something unreadable.

"That's enough, Blue. He's just a first-year."

Blue lets him go after a lengthy pause. Red has long since gotten bored with them, then, having left to return to his spiking drills.

" _...Right._ Sorry, kiddo..."

Barry is left standing there, hugging a volleyball to his chest. He doesn't bother smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt.

All he'd done was request that he teach him how to serve. 

* * *

"Hey, kid, I don't know where you'll be headed after this," he says, flashing him a nasty grin that somehow outshines the medal hanging around his neck, "but I'm gonna crush you when you get to high-school, okay? You better be prepared!"

They shake hands and Barry returns the grin, though the way he's trying to crush Blue's fingers conveys an entirely different message.

The other appears to be loving every second of it. Barry just wants to wipe that smug look off his face.

"Don't worry. _I will._ "

And he means it. 

* * *

"I'm just saying, maybe you need to be a little faster! I'm not trying to tell you how to play, but it's. It's hard for me— "

"Don't give me that. You know we're going as fast as we can! Maybe _you're_ the one who needs to slow down! Do you _really_ think anyone here isn't already working their ass off?"

" _What?!_ You— "

" _—is that it?_ Are you so conceited as to believe you're the only one who gives a shit about winning? Do you ever stop long enough see everyone's bending over backwards to match your ridiculous standards?!"

"I. Yes. _No!_ Of course I don't think that! I know you're already doing your best! But if I try to slow down, then... I feel my tosses won't be at their full potential. Don't you get it? Do you want to let the other teams get the upper hand?!"

"Are you stupid? What the— "

" _—I'd be holding myself back!_ I'm not comfortable with—"

"Then try to adjust! We're not little pawns for you to manipulate, _oh almighty King_. If you can't work with the rest of the team, you're out. Simple as that. The coach won't care that it's your last year."

"Don't be ridiculous. He can't bench _me._ "

 _He couldn't._

Barry wanted to play more than anything. If he wished to stay on the court, then he had to show them... he had to show everyone he deserved to play to the very last minute.

He'd never let himself fall behind.

After all, only the very best could be at the top. It didn't get any simpler than that. 

* * *

_"O-oh..."_

"Not a single one...!"

"It's like they don't want to have anything to do with him. Serves him right."

"Shame about the rest of the team, though. Who'd want to play with someone like that...?" 

* * *

"...—did you see that? I know the stories, obviously, but I didn't think he actually—"

"Yeah. I'm friends with someone from his school, remember? They say all the rumors about him are true. All of it sounds a bit far-fetched, coming from someone else, but seeing it yourself..."

"Oh! That reminds me. I heard something strange about him the other day— "

"What?"

"Let me finish! Apparently... people are saying he's a completely different person off the court."

" _Eh?_ How come?"

"You heard me. It's like... you'd expect him to be this brooding, holier-than-thou kinda guy with how stern he looks, right? It's hard for me to believe he'd be anything but self-centered— "

"—and uncooperative— "

"—after seeing him play, but I hear he's actually pretty decent if you really get to know him. I suppose he's just... difficult, that King..."

"You gotta admit he's a genius, though. Seeing him play, it's. I don't know. Everyone else seems almost too slow, y'know? That crazy speed gives me the creeps."

"Tell me about it. He'd be great, with the proper coaching."

"Or better yet, with someone who could actually spike his tosses. Can you imagine? I bet any team would kill for a freak duo like that."

"Yeah..."

"What a shame. I kinda feel sorry for him."

"Well, I don't blame his teammates for shutting down like that. I know I would've. It doesn't matter that he's a genius setter — if you can't connect with your team, you're just dead weight in the end."

"Hear, hear..."

 _Tweet—TWEEET!_

"Eh, looks like the match is finally over. Time for warm-up, everyone!"

 _"Yes, captain!"_

* * *

 _"Nice receive...!"_

Squeak!

"Chance ball!"

"Got it!"

"..." 

* * *

_It's over._

He's not sure if he might be imagining it, somehow. He can still hear the ball bouncing uselessly off the court, mocking him even from outside his line of vision.

And there is absolutely nothing he can do about it. Not anymore. His last match of junior-high...

It takes a few seconds for it to finally sink in, but it's not long before he realizes the second set had drawn to a definitive close. Barry releases a shuddering breath he hadn't quite realized he'd been holding, his muscles stiff and aching from exhaustion, and thinks that it might be why he feels his heart could burst out of his heaving chest at any moment. His tongue feels like sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. The beads of perspiration rolling off Barry's hairline and under the collar of his shirt almost bring sweet relief to his heated skin, but the sore hands, sticky skin, and wet clothes that are just now making themselves noticeable amidst his jumbled thoughts manage to cancel it out.

His mind is filled with static. There doesn't seem to be room in his head for anything else. Suddenly, Barry can hear the stands buzzing wildly with whispered exchanges about something unintelligible —he doesn't want to listen close enough to find out _what_ — and he can feel his teammates, one by one, shifting as they relax their stance and hang their heads in bitter defeat.

On the other side of the net, the opposing team loudly revels in their victory over Kitagawa Daiichi and their infamous King of the Court.

His eyes sting.

 _"Tch...!"_

Barry spins around, finally lowering his arms, and whether it's his team's spiteful glances or his coach's disappointed frown and pursed lips that finally shatter his mask of concentration, he doesn't know, but that doesn't stop him from clenching his fists into his damp, blond locks and _screaming._

Out of all his tosses, not a single one had been spiked. That frightened him to no end. They were always too fast, too volatile, too impossible... the list goes on. The King's toss was reckless, and for the first time, there was nobody scrambling to match it. The one last, decisive toss of the match had been deliberately ignored and it hurt — it hurt far worse than any other failed toss, because it was his team's way of saying, _'we've had enough of you now.'_

Their victory over Yukigaoka ( _his victory over Lucas_ ) and everyone else after them had all been for nothing, in the end.

"Thank you very much!"

The team stares at him warily, even as they line up for the last time and thank everyone for the game, as if though he would snap at the lightest pressure. As if there'd be anyone other than himself who could possibly be the subject of all his anger and frustration.

He had never been any good at slowing down his pace. He'd always sped by through life, his world too blurred for him to focus on anything for long, leaving everyone else struggling to keep up as he turned his head to yell, _'too slow!"_

And more often than not, after stopping to look back, he's found himself alone. 

* * *

After suffering a crushing defeat at his first and last volleyball match of junior-high, Lucas was left with little else to do but stand up, dust himself off, and keep moving forwards.

Spring promptly arrived, and with it, graduation. Karasuno High was supposed to be the turn of the page, the start of a new chapter...

Or so he thought.

"Wh-...!"

 _Oh, you've got to be joking._

"W-what are you doing here?!"

He can almost hear a pin drop.

Dropping the ball in his hands, the King of the Court (of all goddamned people) spins around so fast Lucas starts to worry that he might've given himself whiplash. The taller boy looks like a deer in the headlights, his eyes wide as saucers and his mouth hanging open, gawking at the other as if he'd somehow sprouted a second head during winter break.

 _What's with that look? You'll catch flies,_ is what he wants to say, but the words linger on his lips before they ever leave his mouth.

Besides... he mustn't look too different himself, at the moment.

"I. You-... _What?_ " Barry fumbles with his words, evidently still reeling from the news that _his sworn rival was apparently attending the same school as him, now what?_ Though Lucas supposes Barry's thought process must be as fast as his absurd toss, because he advances towards him before Lucas can do so much as twitch his little finger. While Lucas remains frozen on the spot Barry seems to take the initiative, deciding he needs all the answers he can get out of him _now._

 _Ias he angry? Disappointed? What did he want?!_ Whatever it is, the dark-haired boy doesn't want to stay long enough to find out.

Intent on avoiding this particular encounter, Lucas steps one foot out of the gymnasium in a desperate attempt to escape the agitated King, but to no avail. When Barry clamps his hands down on his shoulders and pins him under his scrutinizing gaze (when did he ever have the time to recover from the shock?) he feels a strong urge to avert his eyes from the sheer intensity emanating from the blond, yet Lucas stands his ground. He clutches the straps of his schoolbag like a life-line.

When did it get so hot in here, anyway? His red jumper is suddenly too constricting, even in the lingering winter chill that spring hasn't quite snuffed out yet, and the glowing lights of gymnasium #2 have him worrying he'll start sweating profusely anytime now. Give him dozens of spiking drills, no problem, but Lucas is uncertain he'll be able to take a yelling match at seven in the morning. Luck certainly isn't on his side today.

Lucas must have started to space out somewhere along their (one-sided) staring contest, because Barry shakes him back to full awareness.

"Well, _duh!_ I'm a student here! I should ask what _you're_ doing—"

Lucas narrows his eyes upon finding his voice. "You know what? It should be _you_ telling _me_ why you came here instead of-... of, I don't know, some powerhouse school or something. There's plenty enough in Miyagi alone. So...why pick Karasuno?"

Barry freezes. Lucas briefly considers that might have been the wrong question to ask.

The taller boy looks off to the side, suddenly finding the discarded volleyball on the floor to be rather intriguing. Barry visibly shrinks under the weight of Lucas' inquiry and his death grip on his shoulders loosens before he (finally) steps back.

"I... couldn't get into the school I wanted. That's. That's where I was going but—"

"Let me guess — you didn't pass the entrance exam?"

Uncomfortable, Barry shifts his weight from one foot to another, giving Lucas a one-armed shrug as if he'd just asked him what he'd like to get for dinner.

"Nope."

"Then what about—"

" _Well, well, well!_ What've we got here?"

 _Flinch._

Lucas can almost feel the colour draining out of his face.

A second voice sighs, long-suffering, "Don't go picking on the first years already..."

And lastly, "You shouldn't worry so much, Bren. That's how you get gray hairs!"

The upperclassmen have arrived.

In record speed, both boys scramble to stand side-by-side to face the newcomers at the doorway (which Lucas had been blocking, _oh god_ ), their backs straightened, chins up, and their arms flattened at their sides as Karasuno's upperclassmen stare down at them with varying degrees of amusement. He supposes they had to show up _eventually_. Right now, however, is a bad time. _Very bad_. His nerves are already frazzled enough as they are; he could do without the pressure of having his seniors pass their judgement on him before they've even started practicing, thank you very much.

They can see now who was it that snuck up on them. It's a dark-haired boy, standing a few inches below Barry's height but still easily surpassing Lucas', donning a backwards cap that does a poor job of keeping his too-long fringe out of his face. Even if it's stylishly swept to the side, Lucas can't help but wonder if hinders his gameplay any.

Though apparently not, because Fringe is dripping with confidence when he steps forwards and regards them like a king would his subjects, feet set apart and hands at his hips. The shit-eating grin and seemingly all-knowing hazel eyes that glint an eerie gold in the sunlight all but complete the image of a guy who probably eats sniveling freshmen for breakfast.

"Heyo, kiddos! What's got you firsties looking so tense?"

 _Is he the captain...?_

If that is the case: god help him. 'Bren' wouldn't be the only one getting gray hairs prematurely.

" _You're_ asking that? Seriously, Ethan?" The last boy, a lean teenager with wide eyes and a mop of unruly brown locks Lucas suspects might be hosting a bird's nest, releases a pleasant laugh and playfully punches his arm. If Fringe's nigh-imperceptible flinch and Bren's sympathetic wince are anything to go by... well, perhaps he should avoid being on the receiving end of this person's "teasing" gestures.

Ethan swats at the offending hand and scoffs, absentmindedly rubbing at the spot once the threat is gone. "Well, _obviously_! Somebody's got to watch out for the little first years. And that includes you and Brendan both!"

Brendan presses his lips into a thin line. It's no secret he's not entirely overjoyed with his teammates' bickering, but he remains oddly quiet even as they try bringing him into it.

 _Probably trying not to say anything mean,_ Lucas thinks. _I can relate to that._

"Yeah, unless 'watching out for them' means scaring them half to death on the first day! Who sneaks up on people like that?"

"I do! We've gotta leave an impression!"

"You might have already, actually. _They,_ " the unnamed boy motions towards the first year duo, "must be thinking you're gonna eat them alive."

"Don't be stupid. Nate, of course I—"

Lucas and Barry exchange glances, each mirroring the disturbed look on the other's face. He can tell the blond is starting to get restless, and he will be, too, if they didn't start the actual morning practice anytime soon.

 _"AHEM."_

Thank god for small mercies.

Both Nate and Ethan heed the cue to fall silent (though that doesn't stop Nate from smiling sweetly at his friend, who scowls) and Lucas doesn't doubt for a second who the actual captain must be. Pleased, Brendan visibly relaxes his stance and nods at him and Barry in acknowledgement. In contrast to Ethan's roguishly handsome looks and bold features, Brendan's are a bit... subtler, perhaps. Lucas has to look at him twice to really take in his kind, grey-blue eyes, olive skin, and cropped brown hair.

Brendan's presence isn't particularly imposing; if anything, Lucas can readily tell that he has never been the type to turn heads the way Barry does. But there's a feeling in his gut that says he's better off not underestimating Karasuno's captain, and quite frankly, he wasn't planning to either way. Lucas knew all about people judging a book by its cover.

He decides he can trust him.

"Now that _that's_ over with - welcome to the volleyball club. I'm Brendan, and I'll be your captain from now on," he says, stepping towards them to shake their hands. Barry gets carried away and ends up squeezing his hand with enough force to break several bones, and Lucas' own hands are shaking and slick with sweat, but Brendan only smiles reassuringly.

Though, of course, things were bound to escalate from there.

He isn't so welcoming anymore when in the midst of an argument, Barry serves a ball into Lucas' face and sends the dean's wig flying —"Brendan had death in his eyes," Nate declares, solemn, after having accompanied the captain to the office for moral support, "he might never be the sa-" "Ugh, shut up! He'll get over it!"— which led to them, followed by their club registration forms, getting thrown of the gymnasium until _"you get your heads out of your asses and learn some teamwork! We're short on members, but we don't need people who can't work together!"_

They manage to bargain for a 3-on-3 against the other first years to prove their abilities (with the promise that they'll behave), and that's that.

Except... if they lose, Lucas might never be a regular, and Barry would never play setter.

 _What the hell are we gonna do now?_

* * *

By the time the spring high preliminary matches come knocking at their door, Karasuno can confidently declare the 'flightless crows' are ready to take to the skies once more.

And they might just make it.

Their bodies are going through the motions almost before their brains catch on, like there's an instinct ingrained deep within them that's just now beginning to emerge. Barry remains undecided on how to put into words how the world screeches to a stop for a fraction of a second whenever they set up their quick, how everything is so much sharper and his thoughts are pushed to the very back of his mind to be replaced with soothing nothingness as they —Karasuno's freak duo— synchronize to perfection. Setting to Lucas comes to him as easy as breathing, and Lucas spikes his tosses like he's been doing it his whole life.

Unstoppable in its tracks, the ball cuts cleanly through the air and ricochets off the other side of the court with smack that's music to his ears. Barry still finds it a more than a little unsettling how he is able to match Lucas' motions, how easily they use the best of each other as the building blocks for their powerful foundation. They fit together like cogs in a well-oiled machine, no longer loose bolts that hindered its functionality, their movements fluid and fitting together seamlessly.

He thinks about how naturally Lucas has learned to read him, how he can distinguish between his constantly shifting moods even though many before him had long ago given up on trying to match his unwavering speed. How many people in his life are able to do that, exactly? Barry knows without having to check that he could easily count them all in one hand and still have fingers to spare.

When exactly did they get to know each other so well? When exactly did Barry figure out when to snap Lucas out of his anxiety, and when to give him space to think by himself? When did he realise precisely what to say to rile him up, to encourage him? He's got no clue as to when Lucas stopped being solely a rival and started being— _what?_ All he knows is that when they work together, when their quick slams down before their opponents, it feels like a circuit closing, like something he's been missing all along has finally fallen into place and Barry can hardly believe it.

It was Lucas who challenged him time and time again to improve, both as a player and a person. Lucas, who had opened his eyes and carefully eased him into trusting his teammates, who had knocked the King of the Court off his crumbling throne, ripped the heavy cape off his shoulders and the crown off his head, and slipped his hand into his to stand as a pillar of support at his side.

 _Together, we're invincible._

He doesn't need to look back anymore.

Volleyball isn't a game where one carries the ball. It's only touched for a mere instance, during which you control it as it becomes an extension of your body. And when the ball flies into his fingers, Barry can somehow feel Lucas' presence earnestly reaching out to him as if to say, _"I'm here!"_

Barry trusts him wholeheartedly.

He tosses him the ball, and for the first time, there is a thrilled grin plastered across his face as he watches Lucas spread his wings and take off to the skies.

The way Lucas smiles at him afterwards makes him feel like he might be flying, too. 

* * *

_Before my eyes, a tall, tall wall looms above me._

 _What sort of scene is on the other side? What will I be able to see there...?_

 _ **Let me show you.**_


End file.
